


The Man Who Sold The World

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Gen, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-12
Updated: 2008-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene always knew what needed to be done.  Very barely-there Sam/Gene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Who Sold The World

  


The outdated blue Vauxhall had only two qualities to redeem it in Gene’s eyes: a working tape deck to play the cassettes he couldn’t yet throw out, and a lack of power steering. He knew most cars these days had steering wheels that turned at a thought, but he favoured a machine that needed to be firmly guided to its purpose, one that couldn’t rapidly change its mind even if it had any inkling to do so.

He already knew, had always known, what needed to be done.

Gene leaned back in the driver’s seat, staring down his nose with narrowed eyes at the stretch of empty road before him, listening to the cassette play through the crackling speaker by his knee. That Bowie freak was yowling out something that burned its way into Gene’s gut like a bad case of indigestion, something he knew too well.

 _I'll give my love in vain, to reach that peak again  
We met upon a hill  
Mother, she blew my brain, I will go back again  
My God, she shook me cold_

The song ended, and Gene’s hand moved in the silence, turning the ignition as the guitar chords of the next track began to play. He waited a moment, as he knew he needed to, waiting until he heard the first groaning words of Bowie’s voice before accelerating.

 _We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when_

And as he drove, he could hear what he could hear, that man upon the stair, his girl with the mousy hair.

 _Now [although I wasn’t there] she walks through her sunken dream_

Gene blinked fiercely against the sun, turned round his corner, as the words blurred and merged at the edge of his hearing.

 _To the seats [he said I was his friend] with the clearest view  
And she’s hooked [which came as some surprise] to the silver screen  
But the film [I spoke] is a saddening bore [into his eyes]_

Gene closed his eyes and jammed down on the accelerator. Their songs flew apart.

 _For she’s lived it ten times or more._

He never heard the impact over the double drone of David Bowie in his car, in the silver Jeep some twenty feet past him now. Gene braced his arms against the wheel as he surged forward, realizing he had hit the brakes.

 _I thought you died alone, a long long time ago._

Breathing heavily, he lifted his head and peered in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t see much in the way of blood, but Sam still looked far too small against the unforgiving sprawl of concrete, the back of his head barely visible beyond the rumpled navy suit overwhelming his body. His body.

His Sam. His tragic, endless life.

The dull click of the cassette winding to its end snapped him back into action, sending foot and hands into stilted motion and coaxing the Vauxhall up to speed. Gene slammed the tape deck’s eject button as he drove, and snapped the cassette in half with one hand before tossing David Bowie’s _The Man Who Sold The World_ out the window.

He didn’t need to keep it anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics and vague references borrowed from 'She Shook Me Cold', 'The Man Who Sold The World' and 'The Supermen', all songs from _The Man Who Sold The World_.


End file.
